To Find You Again (20 page)

Shimmering Water sighed. "His mouth is very nice and I have never seen eyes such as his—the color of a night sky." She ducked her head closer to Emma. "He would look very good in only a breechclout, would he not?"

Emma's gaze traveled to Ridge's backside and pictured him in what Shimmering Water described. She mentally shook herself and returned her attention to her task, refusing to be drawn in. The fact was she didn't want to share Ridge with anyone.

The sun was high when the children and men drifted toward the kettles over the fire pits. Women returned to their tipis to eat stew or soup. Chayton dashed over to Emma's fire and the stew Talutah had made that morning. Emma could almost hear her son's stomach growling. Smiling, she filled a bowl for him and then one for herself. She broke off chunks of flat bread Talutah had made earlier and left on a stone close to the fire. Sitting beside her son, she asked him about his morning as they ate.

When Ridge joined them, Emma was refilling Chayton's bowl. She readied one for Ridge and handed it to him.

"Thank you." He slipped his hat off his head to hang down his back by the drawstring, and sat across the fire from them.

"You're welcome," Emma said, glad he'd come to their fire instead of going to someone else's, like Shimmering Water's. "You seem to have made yourself at home."

He shrugged and swallowed before answering, "In some ways, the Lakota haven't changed at all. They play the same games and brag about victories. But in other ways, they've changed a lot. There's more distrust, and there's more talk of war against the whites."

Emma nodded, having noticed the same changes herself just between the time she lived with them and now. It was sad and frightening, as well as inescapable.

The sun appeared from behind a cloud and caught Ridge's long thick hair, exposing strands of reddish-gold among the maple-brown. Emma tried to imagine him in short hair, like her father's, but couldn't. Before living with the Lakota, she'd daydreamed about beaux with trimmed mustaches and wearing suits and opera hats. Now when she allowed herself to woolgather, she thought of Ridge Madoc with his unfashionably long hair, moccasins, wool trousers, suspenders, buckskin jacket, and slouch hat. Ridge, with his midnight blue eyes, that when turned in her direction, could make her knees feel like honey.

Chayton's empty bowl slipped from his hands, and Emma smiled fondly at his drooped head and closed eyes.

"All that running around tuckered him out," Ridge said quietly. "I'll carry him inside if you'd like."

"Yes, please," Emma replied.

Ridge scooped the child into his arms and ducked into the opening of the tipi. Emma followed but stayed by the entrance with crossed arms as she watched Ridge settle the boy on a pile of skins. He tucked a flung-out thin arm under a hide, then adjusted the blanket under Chayton's chin and smoothed his hand across the boy's hair. Emma wasn't surprised by the man's tenderness—he'd never been anything but gentle with her. Except for the time he'd tied her up, but she didn't blame him for that.

He rose gracefully and Emma backed out of the lodge.

"Most of the children will sleep for an hour or two, then they'll be back at it," Emma commented.

Ridge didn't reply but picked up the bowls they'd used and hunkered down beside a pail of water sitting in front of the tipi. He ducked the dirty dishes into the water to wash them.

"I should do that," Emma said.

He grinned mischievously, making him appear not much older than Chayton. "Worried your friends'll scold you for making your man do a woman's chore?"

Her face warmed. "You're not my man," she responded tartly.

"No, but everyone sees us that way."

His gaze roamed across her, and her body responded as if he'd touched her intimately.

"Does that bother you?" he asked huskily.

"Does it bother
you?"

"Why should it? You're a beautiful woman, Winona."

His drawl made her Indian name sounded oddly lyrical and Emma's heart tripped in her breast. Here, in the middle of a Lakota village, the white world with all its stuffy rules and harsh prejudices seemed a million miles away. It would be so easy for Emma to ask Ridge to share her furs, but they had to someday return to their own world. They'd already gone beyond civilized boundaries in the cabin; she didn't dare risk it again.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "But you and I both know it's not that way." She turned away to needlessly stir the remains of the stew. "If you're offered a woman, don't turn her down on account of me."

Strong fingers gripped her shoulders, startling her. She hadn't even heard him approach.

He turned her around to face him. "I don't want any woman but you."

Emma gasped at the heat in his words and the need in his flashing eyes. She stared at his lips, his mouth, and fought the hunger in her own body. One touch, one look— that was all it took for Ridge to set her on fire. She hadn't bargained on her attraction growing after they'd yielded to their passion.

She trembled as she fought the overriding desire, but knew it would be a losing battle if Ridge didn't release her. It would be so easy to remain in his arms and be led into their lodge and join their bodies upon the soft skins. But Emma was under no illusions—if they were back in Sunset, Ridge wouldn't be treating her this way.

"Are you willing to marry me?" she asked, amazed that her voice remained steady.

Ridge released her as if she were scorching hot and growled a curse. "I ain't ready to get hitched."

At least not to me,
she added silently with a stab of remorse.

"Then we'll not be lying together again either," she stated.

"Fine," he said curtly. He tugged his hat onto his head. "Fast Elk invited me to race this afternoon. I'd best go ready Paint."

Ridge's stride was fluid, but Emma noticed his clenched jaw and knew she'd made him angry.

She sagged. She'd never force him to marry her for what they'd done or what they might've done again if he had pressed her. But she wasn't strong enough to deny him, and she hated herself for that weakness. If he'd kissed her, she would've been lost, so she'd gambled on his honor. She'd expected his rejection, but it still hurt.

Terribly.

In the Lakota culture, men were the hunters and warriors, and every activity they engaged in was geared toward being better hunters and better warriors. Emma had seen the men race their ponies countless times in the past and she'd long since lost her fascination with their riding skills. However, knowing Ridge was to participate, Emma made certain she faced the direction of the meadow where the race would take place.

"Is your man good?" Talutah asked.

Emma glanced at the woman sitting beside her who was sewing quills on a shirt for Fast Elk. "Yes," she replied. Although not as certain as she sounded, she knew Ridge possessed a natural grace atop a horse, and suspected he could easily match the other warriors' prowess.

Emma tried to keep her attention on her own sewing task, but her gaze kept shifting to the warriors and horses at the far end of the field. Ponies stamped and snorted as the men lined up in a single row. A boy whooped the signal to start. Horses and men exploded in a blur of motion.

Hoofbeats pounded the hard-packed earth and Emma picked out Ridge near the far end of the group. Her hands fisted and she leaned forward, silently urging him on.

Paint lengthened his stride and began to gain ground, moving forward to overtake the middle of the pack, then passing them. Only four riders were ahead of Ridge, and Paint ate up the ground between them. Finally, there was only one warrior who outdistanced them. Emma shaded her eyes to pick out the brave's features.

Hotah!

Talutah had told her he'd been on a scouting trip, but it appeared he had returned.

"Go Ridge," she murmured, her gaze riveted to the unfolding drama of racing horseflesh and skilled horsemen.

Clods of new grass were thrown back by sharp hooves as Ridge and Hotah leaned low over their horses' manes.

Paint drew neck and neck with Hotah's chestnut horse. Emma could make out flecks of spittle on both animals' muzzles and the faint tremble of the earth from the thundering gait. Just as they crossed the finish line, Ridge and Paint surged ahead to win by less than a head.

Emma clapped and smiled so widely her mouth hurt, but it couldn't lessen her exhilaration at Ridge's victory over Hotah.

A motion caught her eye and she turned to see Chayton standing on a tall boulder some two hundred feet away, jumping up and down as he, too, cheered Ridge's win. Her elation disappeared, replaced by dread at her son's precarious position. If he slipped, the fall could injure him badly, or even kill him. She rose, intent on getting him off the rock before he lost his balance.

Suddenly, Chayton's arms flailed wildly and he stumbled back to disappear behind the boulder. His shrill cry chilled Emma to the bone.

Talutah caught Emma's wrist. "You must allow him to learn on his own," the older woman said sternly. "Do not shame him in front of the others."

Emma's mouth gaped. "He's not even four summers old." She tugged free of the older woman's strong grasp. "How can such a young one be shamed?"

Talutah shook her head in disapproval. "You have changed, Winona. You think more like a
wasicu
than one of the People."

"If being one of the People means I cannot go to my son when he is hurt, then maybe it is better to be a
wasicu,"
she said angrily, fear sharpening her words.

"Go then," Talutah said flatly. Her gaze dropped back down to her sewing.

Torn between apologizing to her adopted mother and her need to check on her son, Emma wavered, but her maternal instincts overrode her momentary indecision.

Running, she followed the trail the children had taken earlier which led to the river's edge. She spotted the group of youngsters with Ridge already in their midst.

"How is—" Emma began, but broke off when she caught a clear view of her son sitting on a rock. He had blood running down the side of his face. She sank to her knees in front of Chayton, her heart jumping into her throat.

"It looks worse than it is," Ridge reassured. "He's a mite dazed, but he wasn't knocked out, and the bleeding's slowed. His head's gonna hurt some, though. And I think his ankle's twisted, but nothing looks broken."

Ridge untied the dark blue bandanna from around his neck and rose to dip it into the edge of the river. When he returned, he handed it to Emma, and spoke to the children. "Chayton will be fine. Go."

The dark-eyed girls ushered their charges away and in a few moments, the children were once again playing and laughing.

"This is one of the reasons I can't leave him here," Emma said hoarsely to Ridge, although her attention was riveted on her task as she wiped the blood from her son's face.

"Don't mollycoddle him. It's not their way."

Emma snapped her gaze to Ridge, her disagreement with Talutah adding fuel to her frustration. "This is
my
way!"

"Look at him, Emma," Ridge ordered. "Go on. Look! He's Lakota."

Reluctantly, Emma scrutinized her son, from his pale complexion to his struggle to remain unmoved by his injuries. There were two tear tracks down his dusky cheeks, but no more were being shed. He reminded Emma too much of Enapay after he'd been injured during a raid—the same withdrawn expression and impassive eyes.

She pressed her lips together and handed Ridge back the bloodied bandanna. "Could you rinse this for me?"

Emma had less than a minute alone with her troubling thoughts before Ridge returned. She continued to wipe away the blood, more than a little shocked that the boy hadn't spoken since she began.

"Does it hurt?" she asked him.

He finally focused on her. "No. I am not a baby."

"I know, Chayton, but I am your mother and I worry about you."

He stared at her, his eyes the same color Emma saw when she looked in a mirror.
"Ina?"

She nodded solemnly. "Yes. I am your
ina"
She hadn't tried to explain to him yesterday, hoping that he might remember on his own. "I had to go away for a little while, but I'm back now."

Chayton studied her, almost frightening Emma by his intensity, which was far too profound for a boy bis age. "You will stay?"

"I don't know." Emma brushed the gash on his head with the cloth and involuntary tears slid down Chayton's face, his stoic expression giving way to a little boy's pain. He whimpered and Emma drew him into her arms. She was surprised and pleased when his arms wound around her neck.

"If I go, I want to take you with me," she whispered in his ear.

Chayton raised his head. "Where?"

"To see your white grandfather and grandmother."

The boy grasped Emma's hand and stared down at their intertwined fingers.
"Wasicu?"

She nodded, her throat full.

"Lakota," Chayton exclaimed fiercely, jabbing a thumb into his chest.

"Yes, you are. But you have as much
wasicu
blood as Lakota blood."

The boy raised bis gaze to Ridge, as if asking him to deny her words.

Ridge nodded slowly. "Your ma's right, Chayton."

The boy's brow furrowed and for the first time, Emma considered Chayton's feelings about his mixed heritage and leaving his home. There was no doubt he'd heard stories about the whites and their treatment of the Indians, but how much did he understand? The warriors would've embellished atrocities the
wasicu
committed, while celebrating their own victories. Emma's sympathies lay with her adopted family, but she wasn't blind to their fierce tendencies.

"He'll be all right, Emma," Ridge reassured. "It looks like the bleeding's stopped."

Emma eased Chayton back to the rock and raised herself on her knees to tie the cloth around his head. "There. Let's go back to our lodge and you can lie down."

Chayton brushed the back of his hand over his moist cheeks and nodded. Before Emma could help him up, Ridge hoisted him into his arms.